


Middle Kingdom

by Filigree



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: FrostIron - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:04:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigree/pseuds/Filigree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony educates Loki about Midgardian music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Middle Kingdom

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Stolen Relics](https://archiveofourown.org/works/663795) by [Kadorienne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kadorienne/pseuds/Kadorienne). 



> Can be read as a coda to Kadorienne’s Stolen Relics. In my headcanon, Stark is a Rush fan.

Tony Stark was in the Middle Kingdom, at peace in the center of his world. Shangri-La. Not-quite-Nirvana. Whatever name mystical types called the second or third-highest peak of domestic contentment, he was there. 

His Avengers were, according to JARVIS, puttering harmlessly in the common area amidst pizza boxes and tubs of ice cream. Bruce would be on them about salads in a few hours, probably. At the moment nobody wanted to haul Tony out of his workshop with overrated concerns about sleep or nutrition. Nobody important was trying to flatten New York City, infiltrate Avengers’ Tower, or take his stuff. He’d a new theoretical engine upgrade to refine. Van Halen faded into Black Sabbath on the surround system, a tsunami of raw delicious noise that caressed his entire nervous system. Middle Kingdom.

A change drew Tony’s attention to the security screens embedded in his floating displays: a presence registered outside the workshop door. A tall, lean figure, whose hands supported a large flat box horizontally in front of his chest. The backlit silhouette and movements pushed every button in Tony’s arsenal of warm recognition, sudden arousal, and possessive instinct. _Yeah. My stuff. Hands off, universe._

Wherever Loki had been for the last week, he’d arrived at the workshop clad in comfortable jeans, sneakers, and a loose dark tunic. Tony smiled as Loki moved from shadow into light. Lifting his face to speak toward the hallway ceiling sensors, obviously sassing JARVIS. And from his silent laugh and shaking shoulders, being sassed in return. 

Tony raised his satisfaction quotient to second-highest level, definitely.

The door slid open.

Without turning around, Tony watched the other man stand in the doorway for a moment. Loki’s spare features went from smug grin to pained grimace. Loki flinched back, body language indicating flustered, reluctant retreat.

What the fuck? In that split second, Tony assessed the situation and realized the problem. Really, he already knew. Everybody else complained, and from everyone else he reveled in the complaints. He swiped a hand across the security screen in a wordless command to JARVIS.

Sabbath faded into as much silence as the active workshop ever knew. 

“Hey, babe, welcome back,” Tony said, spinning around in his workstation chair. He stretched out low in the seat, hands behind his neck, because he knew that combination of low illumination, black sweatpants, lean muscles, and arc-reactor light shining up through a thin white T-shirt did _things_ to Loki Liesmith. Alien space wizards were no match for Tony Stark’s libido on a good, bad, or indifferent day. Poor bastard. From the moments just before The Defenestration, it had only been a matter of time.

Loki did not leave the doorway, and gave him an exasperated glare. It looked eerily like Pepper’s, which Tony really did not want to consider further.

“Dr. Banner insisted you attend luncheon, Stark.”

Oh. Back to ‘Stark’, are we, Tony thought. “I know. I said I’d wander up in a few minutes.”

“That was apparently several hours ago.”

Ouch. 

“To his knowledge, you have not eaten in twenty-seven hours, or slept in fifty-two. It is beyond courtesy to neglect pizza and comradeship.” He sniffed audibly. “Nor have you bathed. You are doing nothing that requires such diligence. Dr. Banner threatened to send the Hulk down to ‘pry you loose.’”

“Not around my delicate equipment, he won’t!” Tony’s treacherous stomach rumbled. “You love me. You brought me pizza, babe.” He eyed the box and made grabby hands in its general direction. Or Loki’s. He wouldn’t be picky. 

Loki delicately threaded his way through moving robots and stationary piles of parts. “I do. I did. At some cost to my dignity, as Barton thought to lay claim to the last of the combination you most enjoy.”

Tony choked up for a moment. First on laughter – Loki’s earnest, rational explanation to Thor of the cultural importance of pizza on Midgard had sent the entire team into doubled-over gales of hilarity, then delighted agreement over an instant tradition. Then he just felt sheer, near-teary, goofball adoration.

A gorgeous alien space wizard, master of the magics of Asgard, and blood-brother to Thor, had paid close enough attention to Tony Stark to know his favorite pizza flavors.

“Did you bring slices of your pesto pizza, too?” he asked, reaching out to catch Loki by the waist and pull him gently against the chair. Over the smell of tomato, herbs, and cheese he caught hints of Loki’s own wild scent.

“I did.”

Tony looked up – and up, and up – then hooked Loki’s calf with his ankle. “Would you do me the honor of sharing pizza with me, then?”

Graceful and economical in every movement, Loki folded sideways into Tony’s lap. His cool lips brushed Tony’s temple. “I shall. On two conditions.”

“Name them. Anything.” Tony reached for the box, but Loki merely levitated it several feet out of reach.

“We will not eat on or near the futon. My plans for the afternoon do not involve pizza crumbs.” 

“Aw, but that was fun. And tasty. Whatever. And?”

“None of that noise pollution you call music. Not while we eat. Or later.” 

Tony caught just a glimpse of his smile and one vivid green eye. “Hey, I like soundtracks.”

“I do not. I intend to carry on a conversation with my lover, not a screaming-match fit only for the roistering feast tables of Asgard.” Loki angled his head slightly lower, running the tip of his tongue over the top of Tony’s ear. “Later, I want to hear your slightest gasps and moans.”

Tony bit back the first of them. “You’re sure cuddly for a man who says I stink.”

The lick became less exploratory and more territorial. “I did not say you reeked. I said you hadn’t bathed,” Loki murmured in Tony’s ear. “You smell of musk. Honest sweat. Interesting metals and chemicals. Lust eased, then lust denied, then lust channeled into energy. You smell like _you_ , on one of your inventive benders. And later I intend to taste that scent on every inch of you –”

“Oh.” Love and perfect longing set up a buzzing feedback in Tony’s brain. He found enough breath to say, “I can totally go with that.”

*

They found a worktable that would neither poison the food nor suffer unduly from pizza crumbs. Tony discovered he was ravenous. Cold pizza was a food of the gods. So was the cool pitcher of Sangria that Loki pulled deftly from elsewhere through a magical portal, along with two matching tumblers of swirled cobalt blue and pale green glass.

Pizza ran out, and most of the Sangria, and eventually Tony blurted out what had been obvious since the security feed. “You don’t like music?”

Loki kept the sigh out of his voice with pure wizardly willpower, but Tony heard the defensiveness anyway. “I never said that.”

“You almost didn’t come into the workshop. It’s my music, isn’t it?”

“It can be energizing and triumphant at times. I understand why you chose it. But we enjoy music in entirely different ways,” said Loki. “You listen as background. An accessory to spur and frame your efforts. I _listen_. To every part of it, words, stories, melodies, and harmonies. It is much like sorcery. It asks all my concentration, but offers great rewards.”

Tony didn’t even think of teasing him, as he might any other team member. “What music do you like? I have unlimited credit on any music service you can name. JARVIS can find and store anything you want. Though you don’t strike me as either a Hank Williams or dubstep guy. Or yodeling. Please tell me you’re not into yodeling, it might be a dealbreaker.”

Loki’s cultured shudder nearly made Tony laugh. “I have enjoyed Asian and Western classical music. Some tribal musics. Electronica. Jazz and blues. JARVIS has already been helpful in creating playlists to expand my knowledge of Mid – of Earth music. For which I thank him.” Loki inclined his head in a respectful nod back toward the floating display screens.

“You are welcome, Loki.” 

Tony’s AI had gone behind Tony’s back, not including him on the musical education of Tony’s alien space wizard. Hmmph. Traitor. Tony felt another wave of ridiculous fondness. His AI and his lover were friends. Loki treated JARVIS not only as a person, but an equal. This called for a celebration. But they’d already had pizza, and sex already looked to be a likely prospect. He needed a gift, Tony thought. Common ground for a man who wanted rock anthems and a man who wanted sagas. 

Then – of course. He already had the band. The introduction would just be a little sooner, and under controlled conditions. Now, which albums? Which songs? 

A lot was riding on this. Tony knew, and Loki knew, that everything Tony threw at him was meant in friendship and love. But since he was Tony Stark, the unspoken ulterior motive was always there, too.

_This is my world. My stuff. I want you to understand it. I want you to love it, flaws and all. So we can keep finding common ground._

Across the worktable, Loki looked at him over the rim of the tumbler, then put it down with an expectant thunk. “Anthony Edward Stark, you have enemies who turn pale when they see you grinning thus. I should know.”

“J, buddy, have Loki’s audio compilations included anything by Rush?”

“No, Sir.”

“Rush?” Loki’s lips twisted in an almost-snarl. “The bloated talk-show person?”

“Hell no. A Canadian rock band. Progressive rock,” said Tony, feeling the advent of a new Cause. “J, grab everything in 5.1 or the best available sound quality. We need band movies and interviews, including that trip to Rio and the Time-Travel thing. Lyric listings. The best of the fansite discussion boards. Grab Peart’s books, too. God of Mischief, prepare to meet the God of Percussion.”

“A drum god?” Loki muttered.

“Sort of. Got it, J?” 

“Yes, Sir, with pleasure.” The AI’s voice carried relief and approval, as well.

Tony stopped in the act of levering himself out of his chair. “Not you, too, buddy? Who gave you the right to pass judgment on my music?”

“You did, Sir. You enjoy your selections. They appear to aid your creativity and insight. However, may I point out that they can be somewhat simplistic at times? And loud. I already monitor your hearing loss. The new speakers you allowed me to install have offered higher fidelity without sacrificing your fascination for unhealthy noise levels.”

“Wait. New speakers? I’ve been cranking them.”

“No, Sir, you assumed they were at similar high settings. Increased dynamic range has allowed me to lower decibels to slightly less-dangerous levels.”

Loki chuckled.

“This is somehow your fault.” Tony rounded on him, jabbing an accusing finger at him. 

“How can it be? I knew nothing of this, but I share your AI’s concern. You are no longer young, Tony. You are mortal. Fragile.” Loki’s eyes turned dark, and his jaw set stubbornly. “Until we translate the Tablet and create an elixir for you, I would ward you from as much damage as possible.”

And there it was, on the table, blatant as the pizza crumbs: Loki’s ulterior motive. Tony, immortal. Or at least less-mortal.

Tony was Loki’s stuff.

God and mortal, and both of them addicted to grand gestures and insane risks. 

“I can take care of myself,” Tony allowed himself to sulk.

“Plainly, you cannot,” said Loki, standing up. He held out an imperious hand. When Tony shunned it, Loki’s glare softened. “Tony, if I lose you, what do you think happens to _my_ rehabilitation? For all that I hold the magics of Asgard now, I am still a Jotun’s unwanted runtling child.”

“You would never betray Asgard. Or Thor.”

“No, my paladin. But heartache can make a man do stupid things. That has been proven already, in my case.”

“So, you make the elixir. Heal me. How long do we have, even then? What happens when I piss you off and you leave me? Or I leave you? News flash, I’m not good with long-term relationships.”

“Never lie to the Liesmith. What about Pepper? Rhodey? You can love deeply, and long.”

“They’re not gods.” And oh, all the things Tony couldn’t say aloud. That if Pepper and Rhodey and Happy were mortal, and Tony immortal, he would lose them in time. He’d lose the Avengers. Maybe not Thor, Banner, or Cap, but who knew? Could he handle being alone, if Loki abandoned him then? The far future could be an unfriendly country.

Loki came around the table and gathered him into a deep hug. “Then we deal with it. I’d rather you be a friend than an enemy. Love is a mutual benefit. But the universe needs you alive. Probably more than it needs me.”

“ _Never say that_ ,” Tony hissed, and pulled Loki down by his shirt. “Deal, then. We keep each other out of trouble?”

“Us?” Loki’s full laughter melded into a long kiss sweet with fennel and citrus, at the end of which Tony stumbled toward the futon. When he sat, it mostly involved collapsing across Loki’s lap. 

“Bastard. Drugged me,” said Tony into his wizard’s chest. 

“No need. After long denial, you ate pizza and drank fruit punch laced with red wine. Your body is catching up to you. As Dr. Banner and I hoped.”

“But –”

“Later,” Loki promised, his voice deep and soft. “When you’ve rested. For now, what of this new music you want me to hear?”

Tony clawed enough comprehension back to wave a hand in apparently random motions. “J, cue Rush compilations entitled Power Windows, Presto, and Moving Pictures. First priority: ‘Bravado’ from compilation Roll the Bones. Sound level: whatever the fuck you think is reasonable, since you’re gonna babysit me anyway.”

“Yes, Sir.” The AI sounded smug, but Tony forgave him.

He felt the thrum of surprise in Loki’s body, at the driving drumbeat. Then utter stillness as Geddy Lee sang out the first plaintive lines: ‘If we burn our wings, flying too close to the sun…’

Then there was only music, Loki’s slender fingers stroking his hair and neck, and dreams threaded with glory, delight, and fierce resolve.

*

Tony woke slowly into dim quiet. The white sheet and pillow alongside him made a polar landscape in the reflected glow of the arc reactor. Loki was still with him, spooning behind him, one long arm draped over Tony’s bare waist. 

When he felt Tony move again, Loki whispered, “Welcome back.”

“How long?”

“Nearly twenty hours. You had been neglecting your sleep before the latest binge, too.”

“Can’t sleep well alone.”

“So I see.” Loki’s hand cupped around the arc reactor, casting long shadows across the sheet.

Lucidity came after the power of speech, apparently. “Wait. Have you been here the whole time?” The sheet meant they’d exchanged the workshop futon for the bedroom at some point. That stung. Loki might have carried him there like a child, and there’d be hell to pay if Barton took pictures.

“Hmmm. I had some music to listen to. You, by the way, can sleep through anything.”

“Only if I feel safe.” All right, no filters, still not that lucid.

They let that admission simmer in silence for a minute or two.

Then Tony shifted muscles, just to confirm. Yes. Both of them naked. And unwashed, for which he had a little shame until he remembered Loki’s promise of _Later_. “You better not have taken advantage of me while I slept. I wanted to be awake for that.”

“I like my lovers responsive and aware, thank you. I was too busy listening, and watching over you.”

“What do you think?” Tony yawned, snuggling into the long body behind him.

“That the Avengers, JARVIS, and I might possibly need outside help being your fulltime keepers.”

“That’s not news. And Rush?”

A slow, shaky exhale stirred Tony’s hair. Loki said, “I think it is a very good thing Midgard stands, and calls no one its master, if it can breed music like that.”

“Good,” said Tony, smirking into the pillow. “They’re playing near Denver next month, and I have tickets. We, ah, should go incognito. But the band wants to meet you.”


End file.
